


you in your high-tops any day

by brightlight



Series: i'm so into you [3]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M, University AU, mention of drug use (just weed tho lol), rated m for lots of implied sex/mentions of sex but there's no actual explicit content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 02:37:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7416286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightlight/pseuds/brightlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can’t we just be like, friends who exclusively hook up with each other? Isn’t that a thing?” Seungkwan asks. </p><p>Hansol nods. “That sounds like it should definitely be a thing.”</p><p>“Okay. Then we’re that,” Seungkwan decides, raising his popsicle up to knock against Hansol’s at their decision. A cheers, of sorts. </p><p>++</p><p>Hansol and Seungkwan are very certain that they're not dating, but no one else they know is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you in your high-tops any day

**Author's Note:**

> whoops this is basically 13k of established relationship (lol) fluff uh. yknow how it goes. 
> 
> prior works in the series aren't required reading, but set up some of the friendships/relationships/living arrangements/etc. this is a university au & aged up a good year or so. 
> 
> (a note: i had some personal debate over whether or not to include casual drug use in this fic bc it’s so criminalized and heavily punished in ROK but...i’m american and it is not very criminalized over here in many circles and it’s part of the college party environment i’m used to? since this is fic and ultimately all highly imaginary anyway, i went for it, so i’m sorry if that bothers you at all! it’s very minor but. yea)
> 
> (title from "sex" by the 1975)

Seungkwan regrets telling Mingyu not to come to this party with him. It seemed unnecessary at the time, since Mingyu doesn’t even know these people, but Seungkwan is bored. Wrap parties for shows are supposed to be fun and raucous, but Seungkwan never got particularly close to this cast, and now he knows why. They’re boring. 

He’s sitting on a couch sipping apathetically at his quickly-warming beer, which is depressing enough in and of itself. There’s a group of people sitting on the floor talking about like, _politics_ , and Seungkwan wants to bludgeon himself with the beer bottle in his hand. He would, too, if he didn’t take that moment to look across to the far corner of the room and notice a boy sitting on the floor next to a dog, looking serious and talking to it quietly. Seungkwan’s lips twitch upwards at the sight, and it’s only a little bit because the boy is attractive. (He is very attractive, though.) 

Ignoring the conversation going on in front of him, he steps around them to walk over to the boy, who doesn’t seem to notice him approaching.

“Anyway, it’s not a big deal,” the boy says to the dog with a shrug. “I’ll manage.” 

“Does the dog talk back?” Seungkwan asks curiously, and the boy on the floor jumps, startled, before breaking out into a shy laugh.

“That’s what I’m hoping,” he says, looking up at Seungkwan with a wide grin. He brings his free hand (the one not petting the dog) up to his mouth, inhaling deeply on what Seungkwan can tell is a joint. That explains some things, then.

“Can I sit?” Seungkwan asks.

“Yeah, man,” the boy nods, gesturing to an empty spot on the other side of the dog, who’s laying in the boy’s lap. “You want some?” He holds out the joint to Seungkwan. A few other people are smoking too, and Seungkwan thinks it may be a fundamental problem with this party. He much prefers when people are drunk.

Seungkwan pulls a face. “I don’t smoke, really.” 

The boy nods as he takes the joint back again, inhaling on it again for good measure. “Oh, that’s cool, I don’t usually either. But my ex-girlfriend’s here and I didn’t want to deal with her sober.”

“Who’s your ex-girlfriend?” Seungkwan asks with a soft laugh, figuring this boy won’t mind his nosiness. He seems pretty forthcoming.

“Blonde over there,” he says, trying to point subtly to a girl Seungkwan’s been arguing with for the entire run of their play. He feels vindicated.

Seungkwan snorts. “No offense, but she’s a nightmare.”

“Oh, for sure,” the boy nods with another laugh. “I only came to this party to hang out with this dog.” 

Seungkwan believes him, is the thing. He eyes him over, from his baggy t-shirt and flannel over skinny jeans and his unfortunate center-parted hair to his pretty face. “I changed my mind, I’ll take a hit.”

“Cool,” the boy says cheerily, passing him the joint, which is getting smaller by the minute. 

Seungkwan isn’t very good at smoking pot but he manages to not choke, which he’s a little proud of. 

“Your Korean’s good,” Seungkwan says conversationally, and the boy raises his eyebrows with a laugh.

“That’s ‘cause I’m Korean, man,” he says back. 

“Oh,” Seungkwan says, embarrassed. “Sorry.” 

“S’okay. Sometimes if I want people to leave me alone I just start speaking English. It’s not all bad,” the boy says, still grinning, as he has been for the entire length of their conversation. It makes his nose scrunch up in a way that’s kind of cute. 

The boy pets the dog and finishes his joint, and Seungkwan watches, the weed not affecting him much. He’s actually almost absurdly sober, which is not how he expected this night to go, but he’s enjoying it a little more now, which is also unexpected. 

“You wanna take a walk?” The boy asks when the joint between his fingers is burnt down to nothing but paper.

“You talking to me or the dog?” Seungkwan asks, amused.

“Oh. You. I don’t know where she keeps his leash,” the boy shrugs, as if not needing a leash is the only reason Seungkwan is being asked. He raises his eyebrows, unimpressed.

“I’d still be asking you if I did!” The boy defends himself, looking apologetic.

“I believe you,” Seungkwan assures him quietly. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s take a walk.” 

He’s bored of this party anyway and what does he have to lose, really? The boy in front of him is cute, even though Seungkwan isn’t particularly sure whether it matters or not (the ugly t-shirt and clashing colors make him think he might be straight.) He grabs his jacket anyway, shrugging on the denim, and the boy grabs an oversized hoodie and pulls it on over his shirt(s).

“You were in the show, right?” The boy asks as they walk outside, neither of them stopping to say goodbye to anyone in the party. “You were the girl’s best friend.”

Seungkwan nods, slipping his hands into his pockets. It’s been warm lately for April but in the dark it’s colder, his jacket choice less than practical. He’s glad the play’s finished running, because he only tried out as a favor to a friend working tech and he kind of hated it. 

“You were good,” the boy grins at him earnestly. “You’re a good actor.” 

Seungkwan snorts. “Not really. It was a shitty part.” 

“It was a shitty play,” the boys says with a grin and it surprises a laugh out of Seungkwan. 

“But you saw it,” Seungkwan points out. They’re walking down the sidewalk, Seungkwan following the boy’s lead, and he wonders if they’re going anywhere in particular. 

“We’re staying friends,” the boy says with a grimace, gesturing back toward the apartment complex, and assumedly the blonde girl within it.

“Fuck that,” Seungkwan laughs, and the boy grins, looking down at the ground. 

“Yeah, I’m starting to agree.” 

Seungkwan wonders how this boy managed to get involved with her, his ex-girlfriend; she always seemed pretentious and domineering while this boy seems...awkward, for one. But there’s something genuine and a little sweet about him too.

“You hungry?” The boy asks as they pass by a convenience store, but he doesn’t wait for Seungkwan’s answer before walking in. Seungkwan blinks before following him, the door chiming electronically as it opens. 

Seungkwan walks over to where the boy’s standing in front of a wall of snacks, looking deep in thought.

“You ever think about how convenience stores late at night feel kind of spooky?” He asks quietly without turning to look at Seungkwan.

Seungkwan blinks again before letting out a surprised chuckle. “Yeah, kind of.” 

“Like, sometimes I wonder if the people in them are real or not,” the boy says thoughtfully, eyebrows knitted together.

“You’re a lot more stoned than me,” Seungkwan says with another laugh.

The boy laughs back before picking a bag of chips off the wall in front of him. “You’re not wrong.” 

They walk back outside after the boy pays for his food, and Seungkwan turns to him, eyeing him as he opens his bag of chips. “I don’t know your name.”

“Oh, shit,” the boy says through a mouthful before finishing chewing. “I’m Hansol.” 

“Seungkwan.”

“Good to meet you,” Hansol says with a grin before extending the bag of chips. “Chip?”

“You’re very generous, Hansol,” Seungkwan says with a smirk, but he takes one. 

“Where are you from?” Hansol asks him curiously, looking interested. 

Seungkwan takes another chip before he answers, “Jeju. I’ve lived in Seoul since I started high school, though.”

“Cool,” Hansol nods through his own mouthful of chips. “I went to Jeju on a school trip once. Ate hallabong.” 

“I’ll let everyone back home know you approve of our fruit,” Seungkwan says with another smirk, and Hansol laughs.

“Are you from Seoul, then?” Seungkwan asks, taking an educated guess. 

Hansol looks impressed. “How’d you know?” 

“You act like a city boy,” Seungkwan says, smirking again and surprising himself a little. He didn’t mean to start flirting but here he is. 

“How do city boys act?” Hansol asks him with another grin, softer this time. Maybe he isn’t straight, after all. 

“They offer you drugs at parties and then take you on walks late at night before they even know your name,” Seungkwan says with a little shrug, enjoying the way it makes Hansol laugh. 

He rolls his eyes along with the sound, looking teasingly at Seungkwan. “You make me sound dangerous.” 

“How do I know you’re not?” Seungkwan asks, and if he bats his eyelashes a little, well, sue him. 

“If that’s your type, it’s bad news for me,” Hansol says with another laugh, sounding genuinely amused. 

“Ah, you wanted to be my type?” Seungkwan asks, turning to face Hansol with a teasing smirk.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” Hansol says with a grin. They stand still on the sidewalk, looking at each other with matching pink cheeks and flirtatious grins. 

“Kiss me, then,” Seungkwan says on a whim. Hansol’s face reddens, and he looks taken aback. 

“Come on, city boy,” Seungkwan laughs at Hansol’s embarrassment. “Man up.” 

“That’s — on the street?” Hansol asks a little incredulously, and Seungkwan laughs at him again. 

“Maybe another time, then,” Seungkwan says with a grin, turning away from him and walking forward. But a hand grabs his wrist and he turns back to find Hansol, complexion on its way back to normal, staring at him.

“No, I’ll do it.” 

Seungkwan doesn’t show his surprise on his face, instead just stepping forward and placing a hand on his hip, eyebrows raised. Hansol rolls his eyes as he moves toward Seungkwan, his cheeks still flushed, and presses a warm kiss to Seungkwan’s lips. It’s not exactly chaste, but it’s short, and he looks expectantly at Seungkwan when he pulls away.

“Oh,” Seungkwan mutters vaguely. Hansol grins, looking a little smug at the reaction. “Well.” 

And that’s how it starts.

++

“I don’t really...I’m not really into like...a relationship, right now,” Hansol says carefully later that night, pulling his boxers back on at the foot of Seungkwan’s bed. They honest to god have Spider-Man on them, and Seungkwan snorts at the pattern and at the situation before responding.

“Me either,” Seungkwan shrugs, sitting up in bed. Despite his four years of high school spent moaning and heart-panging over wanting a boyfriend, closeted and desperate and a little lonely, he finds himself in his first year of university without the time or energy (or money) to desire one. Hansol looked apologetic when he said it, but Seungkwan feels relieved. 

“Oh. Cool,” Hansol says with a little grin.

“You know, I thought you were straight,” Seungkwan says conversationally, watching Hansol search Seungkwan’s floor for his baggy t-shirt. 

“Well,” Hansol replies, sitting down on the bed and grinning again, “I’m not.” 

“Yeah, I figured that out,” Seungkwan smirks. 

They’re quiet for a minute with matching easy grins before Hansol glances down at the floor, at the rest of his clothes. “So...I should go, I guess.” 

Seungkwan shrugs again. “I mean, you don’t have to.” Hansol’s cute, and Seungkwan has a small but undeniable desire to cuddle with him. It’s embarrassing, and he blames how tired and content he is from his very recent orgasm, but it’s there. “You can stay the night, if you want.” 

Hansol seems to consider. “Alright.” 

It should be awkward, but it’s not, really. Seungkwan pulls on pajamas and they accidentally get into an argument about which contestant should go home on a reality show and when they decide to go to sleep, Hansol turns to him and asks, “Which spoon do you want to be?”

“What?” Seungkwan asks back, confused.

“Big spoon or little spoon?” Hansol asks again, tilting his head like a puppy. 

“Oh,” Seungkwan mutters, feeling embarrassed by the question, for whatever reason. “I don’t know. People don’t usually ask.”

“It’s all about communication, dude,” Hansol says with a nod. 

Seungkwan snorts. “Thanks for the advice.” He ends up being the big spoon, arm wrapped around Hansol’s waist, bonier than Seungkwan’s, and their feet close together as they lie in bed in the dark. 

“This feels kind of intimate,” Seungkwan mutters, aware of how close he is to Hansol’s ear as he says it.

Hansol laughs, and Seungkwan can feel it vibrate against him. “We just had sex, Seungkwan. Like an hour ago.” 

Seungkwan kicks him lightly, rolling his eyes in the dark. “Yeah. I remember.” 

“I’d be concerned if you didn’t,” Hansol says quietly, laughing softly at his own joke.

The next morning, Seungkwan wakes up with an empty bed, but a bright pink post-it note stuck prominently on his alarm clock.

_I know this sounds fake, but I promise I’m not an asshole, I just had a family thing come up. Wanna hang out again sometime?_

Below the message is a phone number and Hansol’s name with a little heart drawn next to it. 

It does sound fake, but Seungkwan can be convinced that Hansol isn’t an asshole. He seems more awkward and earnest than anyone who would want to leave from a one-night stand before the other person is awake. He seems like the kind of boy who would want to get breakfast, or at least make out in the morning. So Seungkwan makes the executive decision to save the number in his phone and type out a message, _I believe you_ with a tongue-sticking-out emoji, signing it with his name before rolling back over in bed and going back to sleep.

**++ ++ ++**

“My sister needed help with her homework,” Hansol says the next time he sees Seungkwan, a few days after he grabbed the pink sticky notes from Seungkwan’s desk in order to write the note.

Seungkwan sips his coffee, looking unimpressed. “At eleven in the morning. On a Sunday.”

“Look, what was I supposed to tell her? She’s fourteen. I can’t just say ‘Oh, sorry Sof, I’m actually in this boy’s bed, we slept together last night.’”

Seungkwan shifts in his seat, considering. “Okay. Fair.” 

“Trust me, I would have rather stayed,” Hansol mutters, stirring his drink with one of those little wooden sticks. Seungkwan doesn’t reply but Hansol can see him grin, small and mischievous. 

It’s not a date. Hansol knows it’s not a date because when Seungkwan texted him two hours ago to ask him to coffee, he led with the phrase, “This isn’t a date, but.” Which seemed straight-forward enough, and also let him not care enough about his appearance that he showed up in a sweatshirt that had seen better days, the seam in the sleeve ripping and a curious stan on the bottom hem. 

So far on their non-date, Hansol learned that Seungkwan does not actually seem to like coffee, since he ordered the sweetest thing on the menu and then added more sugar at the table. He also learned that this not being a date apparently did not excuse the sweatshirt, because Seungkwan almost immediately leaned forward and said, “Please don’t ever wear this in front of me again.” Hansol just shrugged, embarrassed, before ordering a drink. His iced coffee sits in front of him now, half-empty and very well-mixed from Hansol’s nervous tic with the wooden stirrer.

He likes Seungkwan. He’s over-dramatic, but he’s used to that; his ex-girlfriend once wrote an actual manifesto after one of their arguments. Besides, he’s funny, and blunt in a way that Hansol appreciates, even if he doesn’t always respond well to it. 

“So do you act a lot?” Hansol asks, curious. 

Seungkwan sighs, long-suffering (over-dramatic) before taking another sip of his drink. “Not really. I don’t know.”

“What’s not to know?” Hansol asks, amused.

“It’s just something I do for fun,” Seungkwan shrugs. “It’s not exactly a practical hobby.” 

“No offense, but you don’t seem like a person who’s overly concerned with practicality,” Hansol says, an eyebrow raised.

“Excuse you,” Seungkwan says with a snort. “I’m highly practical.” 

“Are you?” Hansol asks with a grin. 

“Yes,” Seungkwan says, raising an eyebrow. “I’m a business major.”

“Oh, so not only are you practical, you’re also an asshole,” Hansol says with an understanding nod. 

Seungkwan nods back, pointing at him to let him know he’s gotten it correct. “Bingo,” he says in English.

Hansol laughs quietly to himself for a minute, taking another sip of his drink. 

“Can I guess yours?” Seungkwan asks with an eager grin, obviously excited to play a game.

Hansol nods, curious, and watches Seungkwan study him. 

“Philosophy.”

Hansol chokes on his drink with a laugh, staining his sorry sweatshirt again, which will probably annoy Seungkwan. “ _Philosophy_?”

“It’s a solid guess!” Seungkwan defends himself. “I met you at a party full of pretentious assholes — no offense — where you got high and then told me about how convenience stores are haunted, or whatever.” 

“I don’t think they’re _haunted_ , just like, they’re like liminal spaces, like there’s not really a gap between any worlds, like ghosts are probably just walking through and we don’t even — no, shut up,” Hansol mutters when Seungkwan starts laughing at him. “I’m not a philosophy major, shut up. No one is a philosophy major.” 

“I know philosophy majors,” Seungkwan says with a shrug. 

“Yeah, me too, they’re the _worst_ ,” Hansol shoots back.

Seungkwan is still laughing at him. “You are clearly too judgmental to be a philosophy major.”

“Linguistics. I study linguistics,” Hansol says finally, rolling his eyes. 

“Sounds boring,” Seungkwan shrugs with a smirk, clearly just trying to rile him up. It only works a little. 

“It’s _not_ boring, it’s really cool,” he mutters, stirring his drink. Seungkwan laughs at him again. 

They get coffee three more times that week (but none of them are dates), and sleep together again once.

++

Hansol can feel Chan watching them from across the room; it’s not judgmental, but he can feel it.

He and Seungkwan are sitting side-by-side on Hansol’s dorm bed, computers in their laps and homework at their feet. Seungkwan is humming something, but Hansol’s learned to tune it out. 

When Seungkwan texted him “Do you wanna study??” Hansol texted back, “only if u really mean study because im so behind.” Turned out, Seungkwan _did_ really mean study, and he showed up to Hansol’s dorm room looking very unimpressed with the implication. He’d been there before, and he waved in greeting to Chan, who took out an earbud and gave a smile in greeting. But usually when Chan saw Seungkwan it was in passing, one of them leaving as the other one arrived; this, Seungkwan’s prolonged presence in their shared room, is somewhat novel. Hence the watching.

When Seungkwan gets up to go to the bathroom, Hansol glances over at Chan, who looks away hurriedly.

“Sorry,” Hansol says with a shrug. “He’s always humming.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Chan says sincerely, shaking his head.

“Then…?” Hansol starts, tilting his head in confusion.

“It’s just...do you guys want me to leave? I can go study in the lounge, it’s fine.” Chan says, sounding earnestly confused.

“What? No?” Hansol asks back, head still tilted.

“If you want to be alone with your boyfriend, you could just—” 

“ _What?_ ” Hansol repeats, this time with a loud laugh. “No, no, no. Seungkwan’s not my boyfriend.” 

Chan raises an eyebrow, his face transforming from confused to disbelieving. “Hyung. You spend the night at his apartment all the time. I’m a year younger than you but I’m not naive.” 

Hansol blushes, feeling found out. “I know I do, but it’s not — we’re not _dating_ , we’re just.” He runs out of words, not sure what to finish with.

“Just…?” Chan prompts him, eyebrow still raised.

“We’re just friends,” Hansol says. It’s not quite right but it’s closer than _boyfriend_.

Chan doesn’t look convinced. “But you’re sleeping with him.” 

His bluntness surprises Hansol, who feels himself blush again. They’ve known each other for years, friends throughout high school, and they’ve talked about sex before, but this feels more awkward. “Yeah,” he admits. 

Chan looks at him long and hard before rolling his eyes and turning his chair back around to face his desk. “Whatever you say, hyung.” 

Seungkwan traipses back in from the hallway then, still humming the same song, and plops himself unceremoniously back in his spot on Hansol’s bed. 

“You’re neighbors with a guy I went to high school with,” Seungkwan mentions conversationally. “He was an asshole.” 

“Good to know,” Hansol mutters, turning his attention back to his laptop. Seungkwan gives him a questioning look at the change in atmosphere, but Hansol shakes his head. 

Seungkwan shrugs. “Let’s work until ten, and then let’s go get ice cream.”

Hansol nods but he’s distracted by the way their knees are pressed together on the bed, the way he’s used to Seungkwan’s (annoying) habits. He’s distracted until they hit 10 o’clock and grab money before making their way to a nearby convenience store and looking through the freezer full of popsicles.

“What’s up with you?” Seungkwan asks, picking out a watermelon slice-shaped thing. 

“Are we dating?” Hansol asks back without preamble. 

Seungkwan snorts. “No.”

“We’ve been sleeping together for like, months. And we hang out all the time,” Hansol says. 

“Yeah, but we’re not dating,” Seungkwan says again, before he pauses and turns to Hansol. “Did you want us to be dating? I thought we both said —”

“No, I don’t, I just. It’s kind of weird, right?” Hansol asks. He picks out a green popsicle and they walk up to the cash register to pay. 

“Maybe. I don’t know,” Seungkwan says, considering. “Are you seeing anyone else?”

“No. Are you?” Hansol asks.

Seungkwan pauses again, unwrapping his ice cream as they walk back outside and sit at the table in front of the convenience store. It’s mid-June and the heat of the day still hasn’t left, the air humid with it. “How would you feel if I was?”

Hansol thinks about it. “Weird, I think. Like, not super happy.” 

“Well, I’m not,” Seungkwan says.

“Okay,” Hansol says back, nodding. 

“Can’t we just be like, friends who exclusively hook up with each other? Isn’t that a thing?” Seungkwan asks. 

Hansol nods. “That sounds like it should definitely be a thing.”

“Okay. Then we’re that,” Seungkwan decides, raising his popsicle up to knock against Hansol’s at their decision. A cheers, of sorts. 

Hansol feels better, his worries soothed. “Chan called you my boyfriend earlier,” he admits, feeling like he owes an explanation for the suddenness of this whole thing.

Seungkwan wrinkles his nose. “Ugh, no.” 

“Yeah,” Hansol nods in agreement, taking a bite out of his popsicle. They eat quietly, leaned back against their chairs and watching people walk by.

“Are you staying in Seoul for the break?” Hansol asks, realizing he hadn’t ever asked. Their classes end in a couple weeks and start up again at the end of August.

“Afraid not,” Seungkwan says with a bite of his watermelon-shaped ice cream. It’s turning his lips red, which is kind of cute. “What, are you gonna miss me?” He asks it like it’s a joke, like he’s making fun of Hansol, but there’s something else there, too.

“A little,” Hansol says with a grin, not particularly embarrassed about it. He and Seungkwan _are_ friends, despite the fact that they began through unusual circumstances. From the beginning, Seungkwan was funny and easy to talk to and nice, underneath his ridiculousness. It’s been rare for them to go a week without seeing each other since April. 

“I’ll send you nudes,” Seungkwan says casually, and Hansol chokes.

“Jesus christ,” he says through a cough while Seungkwan cackles. “I didn’t mean like _that_.” 

“You didn’t?” Seungkwan asks with an eyebrow raised.

“Well,” Hansol mutters, choosing that moment to take a bite. “Not when I said it.” 

Seungkwan smiles at him, less suggestive and more genuine, and they finish their ice cream. On their way back to Hansol’s dorm room to finish their homework, Hansol pulls Seungkwan into an alley and kisses him, fingers resting sugar-sticky against the skin of Seungkwan’s neck when Seungkwan laughs at him afterward. 

“I’ll miss you a little, too,” Seungkwan says quietly, letting their fingers lace together on their walk back. 

“Just a little, though,” Hansol says, and Seungkwan laughs again.

“Yeah, just a little.”

**++ ++ ++**

Not much happens over Seungkwan’s two months off. The air conditioning in his house isn’t working, so he and his sisters take turns lying on the cool of the floor pathetically. He ends up babysitting his younger cousins, watching over them as they drag him to the beach and the playground. He and Hansol sext once, but it doesn’t go well, and they stick to regular texting from there on out, video chatting intermittently. He misses living with Mingyu, who sends him pictures and messages every few days, and he misses having his own space; he loves his family, and he misses them when he’s away, but he doesn’t miss arguing with his sister over who gets to use the computer, or the shower, or the damn air that they’re both trying to breathe.

He’s sad when he hugs his parents and his sisters goodbye in the Jeju airport at the end of August, but he’s also a little relieved to go back to the independence he’d gotten used to. What he wasn’t expecting was for his life in Seoul to have continued without him; waiting for him in the airport were Mingyu, Hansol and Chan, chatting easily before they saw Seungkwan approaching them.

Mingyu lets out a little yell when he catches sight of Seungkwan’s bright luggage, shoving Chan’s arm to point over at him, and then all three of them cheer embarrassingly (Hansol obviously the most embarrassing of all of them, as is his skill.) Seungkwan is pleased at the attention, pleased to see them, and he smiles easily. But in the back of his head, he’s surprised at at the three of them together, maybe even a little bit jealous. It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, but it’s there.

They all end up back at Mingyu and Seungkwan’s apartment, and there’s something unsettling about parts of Seungkwan’s life that were neatly compartmentalized before to be so jumbled together. Seeing Chan outside of Hansol’s dorm room, seeing Chan tease Mingyu so easily, seeing Hansol laugh at Mingyu’s terrible jokes — it’s _weird_. He puts on his best easygoing front, but Hansol of all people must be able to tell, because he keeps himself planted at Seungkwan’s side for the night. 

“I need to head out,” Chan announces when it’s close to midnight, standing with a yawn. Mingyu mirrors it, sleepily nursing his beer; he was never good at staying up late. “Hansol?”

“Um,” Hansol mutters, glancing at Seungkwan, “I’m gonna stay?” He voices it like a question, searching Seungkwan for a disagreement. He’s tired, but he did miss Hansol, so he just shrugs.

Chan rolls his eyes with a smile. “See you tomorrow, hyung. Glad you’re back, Seungkwan!” He gives a big thumbs-up and Seungkwan laughs in return. 

Mingyu trails off to his bedroom after Chan leaves, ruffling Seungkwan’s hair on his way out, and then it’s just Hansol. 

“Hey,” Hansol says with a grin, and Seungkwan lets himself grin back.

“Hey.” 

Hansol keeps looking at him, glancing down at Seungkwan’s lips before he mumbles, “I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Alright, thanks for letting me know,” Seungkwan snorts, but Hansol shuts him up after that, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to Seungkwan’s lips. Seungkwan lets out a content sigh despite himself, and Hansol looks smug about it when he pulls back. 

“I’m kind of too tired to do anything,” Seungkwan says apologetically with a sheepish grin. 

“That’s cool,” Hansol shrugs. “Can I still spend the night?”

Seungkwan doesn’t think they’ve ever done that before, shared a bed without sleeping together, but he’s not opposed to the idea, so he shrugs. 

“You’ve been weird tonight,” Hansol tells him when he’s sitting on Seungkwan’s bed in a borrowed sweatshirt and his boxers, pushing his hair out of his face (it’s gotten longer and Seungkwan wants to drag him to get a haircut sometime soon.) 

Seungkwan sighs, but he doesn’t disagree. “When did you and Mingyu get so close?”

“Oh,” Hansol mutters. “Was that it?”

Seungkwan doesn’t respond.

“We’re not close, really. But he’s nice. We ran into each other last month and we hung out. It was cool,” Hansol shrugs. 

“I know he’s nice, I live with him,” Seungkwan grumbles. 

“What’re you mad about? That you weren’t included? You were across the country,” Hansol says, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I don’t know what I’m mad about,” Seungkwan says eventually, digging through his dresser to find a face mask. Flying always makes him feel gross.

“But you’re mad,” Hansol says, raising his eyebrows. 

“Kind of. I don’t know,” Seungkwan mutters with some difficulty as he puts the mask on in the mirror. It has a cat face on it, making him look ridiculous and a little nightmarish, and he turns around to face Hansol just to make him laugh.

It works, Hansol wheezing weakly at the sight. It occurs to Seungkwan that this is the kind of stuff couples do, discussing feelings while they get ready for bed. It’s domestic. He doesn’t know how he feels about that, but he pushes it out of his mind in favor of lying down on his bed, closing his eyes as Hansol lies down next to him. 

“I did miss you,” Hansol says, rolling so his head is on Seungkwan’s chest and linking their hands together. “How was Jeju?”

“Boring,” Seungkwan murmurs, leaning into Hansol. “Hot.” 

“I know you said you’re tired,” Hansol says quietly, hand on Seungkwan’s stomach, “but I kinda want to blow you.” 

“You should do that,” Seungkwan says quickly, blinking his eyes open to look down at Hansol, who laughs when he looks up at him again.

“I’m not doing it with that face mask on,” he says, still laughing, and Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

“The sacrifices I make,” Seungkwan mutters, shoving Hansol off of him lightly so he can walk over and discard the mask. Hansol laughs again, and Seungkwan finds that he missed the sound; Hansol’s laugh is weird and stupid but he missed it. 

“It must be so hard, being you,” Hansol calls from the bed, and Seungkwan offers a dramatic sigh in response.

“You have no idea,” he mutters through a grin, settling back in next to Hansol, who moves so that his arms bracket Seungkwan’s face.

“Oh,” he says, leaning in to kiss Seungkwan, “your face smells good now.”

“Thanks,” Seungkwan says with a laugh, wrinkling his nose. Hansol laughs back before he kisses him, slow and soft and nice. It’s been two _months_ since they did this, and god, Seungkwan missed it. He didn’t realize just how much until he felt Hansol’s hand cupping against his jaw, but he missed it a lot.

“Don’t be upset,” Hansol says quietly when he pulls back from the kiss. “Everybody missed you. I hung out with Mingyu because I missed you.” 

Maybe it’s self-centered that those words really do help him swallow down the weird feeling he had all night, but he can’t help that. They do help, and the way he feels like Hansol’s center of attention helps. Even if all his friends don’t just belong to him, stay neatly separated the way he wants them, this belongs to him: Hansol kissing his stomach and laughing every so often, Hansol looking up at him, wearing his sweatshirt. This is just theirs, and there’s a weird feeling of possession in his stomach over it.

Later, Hansol pulls the sweatshirt off because he’s too warm, and Seungkwan glances over the tan lines at the tops of Hansol’s arms, like he exclusively spent the last two months outside in a t-shirt with rolled-up sleeves. “That looks stupid,” he mutters, running his fingers over the line of demarcation.

“I know,” Hansol laughs with a shrug. He missed this too, Hansol’s dumb, too-wide smile up close in real life.

Neither of them say anything else before they fall asleep, tucked together on Seungkwan’s bed, but there’s a part of him that wants to say something stupid and sentimental. Stupid is the operative word, though, so he keeps his mouth shut and drifts to sleep instead.

++

Seungkwan enters the cafe in a huff, sitting down across from a waiting Hansol with a sigh and a scowl.

Hansol looks up from his laptop with an eyebrow raised. “Hi, Seungkwan.” 

“I can’t go home for Chuseok,” Seungkwan says with another sigh, crossing his arms in front of him like a child throwing a tantrum. Which he sort of is, but it isn’t his fault. He’d been counting on going home for the few days they had off in September since the spring, but the stupid airline had to raise their stupid prices, and now he was family-less for a family holiday.

“Oh,” Hansol says more gently, closing the lid of his laptop. “That sucks.”

“It does,” Seungkwan agrees, still scowling at the ground. 

“Um, do you wanna...I mean, you could eat dinner with my family, if you wanted,” Hansol offers quietly.

Seungkwan looks up from the floor and at Hansol, who looks a little shy, biting his lip. “Your family?”

Hansol nods. “Yeah. It’s just my sister, my parents and me.”

Seungkwan hesitates, not really knowing why. He’s never spent a holiday with someone else’s family, and it feels kind of like he’s cheating on his own. But the alternative is kind of bleak: him alone in his apartment, eating microwaved dinner. 

“Do you and your sister wear hanbok? I would pay to see you in hanbok,” Seungkwan says, feeling less huffy. 

“Not at dinner,” Hansol says, laughing. “In the morning we do, when we go out to my dad’s hometown and visit his ancestors’ graves and stuff, but dinner is less traditional.” 

Seungkwan feels mildly disappointed, but Hansol grins at him and says, “I’ll send you a picture of me in hanbok, if you want.” 

“You know I do,” Seungkwan says, pleased. 

“So you’ll come?” Hansol asks hopefully.

Seungkwan hesitates again. “Your family won’t mind?”

Hansol shakes his head easily. “Nah.”

“Okay,” Seungkwan says with a tentative smile. “I’ll come.” 

“Cool.” Hansol grins easily, like it’s no big deal at all.

Two weeks later, Hansol keeps true to his promise and sends Seungkwan a picture while he’s wearing his hanbok, snapped in a mirror as he throws up a V-sign. It’s yellow and navy blue, crisp and neat-looking (unlike 90% of his other clothes) and he finally did get a haircut, bangs hanging softly over his forehead. He looks kind of like a kid, the oversized hanbok not helping matters, and Seungkwan snorts.

He sends back a typed _you look 5 years old_ in response, and Hansol just sends back a picture of himself frowning. Ridiculous.

He doesn’t really know what to wear to someone else’s house for Chuseok dinner. Hansol called it “less traditional” but he doesn’t know what that means, either. He doesn’t know the scale of traditional-ness, and how that relates to clothing. In the end, he wears dark jeans and a button-up shirt, one of his nicer ones. He forgoes tennis shoes and wears real adult shoes instead, feeling very grown-up as he arrives at Hansol’s home, which is actually an apartment in a quieter, more residential area of Seoul than Seungkwan was used to being in. 

A teenage girl opens the door, looking remarkably like Hansol and remarkably unimpressed, and Seungkwan grins easily, charismatically. If there is one thing in life that he’s good at, it’s socializing. 

“Hi,” he says, when she continues to just stare at him. “I’m Seungkwan.” 

“Hansol!” She calls behind her, sounding annoyed. She says something in English, and Seungkwan misses most of it, only catching the prepositions. Damn. He forgot how bad he was at that, and hadn’t considered that it might present a problem tonight. 

He’s left standing in the doorway as she walks off into the apartment, unsure of whether or not to enter. But then he hears Hansol’s voice, yelling something back in English before coming into view and making Seungkwan raise his eyebrows in surprise.

Chwe Hansol is wearing, for perhaps the first time in the months that Seungkwan’s known him, clothes that not only fit but fit _well_ , a crisp white button-down tucked in (tucked in!) to black jeans, free from any stains or rips. Even his hair looks nice, pushed back with gel away from his forehead. “Hey,” Hansol says easily with a little wave, and Seungkwan blinks. 

“Hey,” he mutters in response. Hansol furrows his eyebrows, looking down at himself, like Seungkwan’s staring at a heinous stain or something. But no, he’s staring at the absence of a heinous stain.

“You look nice,” Seungkwan offers in explanation, clearing his throat and deciding to keep his eyes on Hansol’s face instead. He’s here as Hansol’s friend, he _is_ Hansol’s friend, and friends don’t blush at the sight of their friends in smart-casual outfits. 

“Oh,” Hansol mutters back, looking a little embarrassed. “Thanks. My grandma’s here, so my mom made me dress up.” 

“Your grandma?” Seungkwan asks curiously, stepping inside and taking off his shoes, snapping out of his stupid gay stupor. Hansol doesn’t ever mention his extended family, only his parents and his sister, and Seungkwan kind of assumed he didn’t have any.

“Yeah,” Hansol says with a quiet sigh, and Seungkwan doesn’t push that one. Instead, he just follows Hansol into the living room of the apartment, where his sister is sitting on the couch, watching television. 

“That’s Sofia,” Hansol says, pointing toward her. Sofia still looks a little annoyed, but now Seungkwan wonders if it’s because of the dress she looks uncomfortable wearing, continually pulling at the straps to fix them. She gives him a wave, so reminiscent of Hansol that it’s eerie, before they walk into the dining room.

“Oh,” a woman says, glancing over at them with eyes that look like Hansol’s, “Hi!” It’s in English, but Seungkwan has a firm grasp on hi and bye, so he says hi back.

Hansol’s mother’s Korean is choppy and a little awkward, and so is Seungkwan’s English, but they manage to combine the two in a way that lets them introduce themselves and make passable small talk, Hansol muttering in Seungkwan’s ear to translate a couple longer strings of English words. 

Then Hansol says something in English and his mother nods and Seungkwan’s being steered down a hallway into what is obviously Hansol’s bedroom. It’s a relic, the posters obviously from middle school, and Seungkwan snorts. 

“I told my mom to tell us when food’s ready,” Hansol explains, not bothering to look embarrassed at the state of his childhood bedroom and instead just flopping back onto his bed.

Seungkwan doesn’t comment on it either, enjoying just taking it in as he sits down and turns toward Hansol. “So,” he starts, “how was Chuseok?” 

Hansol gives him a look, and Seungkwan laughs softly. “Chuseok sucks,” Hansol says quietly. 

It’s kind of heavy, as a statement, so Seungkwan doesn’t prod. He waits for Hansol to sit up and sigh again, hand reaching to mess through his hair before he remembers it’s styled. “We always go and do the ancestor thing, you know, like you’re supposed to. So we drive out an hour and clean off the family memorial and make offerings and wear hanbok. We do all that stuff. And then we visit my grandma and she tells me and Sofia we’re too American.” 

Seungkwan grimaces. “Ah,” he mutters, not sure what else to say. 

“So my mom gets all weird and guilty about like, I don’t know, existing, making her kids look too white or whatever, and then my dad gets mad at his mom, and we go home and try to forget about it and eat a good dinner,” Hansol goes on, sounding annoyed. “But this year my cousins were out of town, so she wanted to know if she could come eat with us. And she’s old, and she’s family, so of course she can. But it’s just…” he trails off, sighing again. “It’s stressful.” 

It’s the most Seungkwan’s ever heard Hansol talk about something serious, and it’s a little surprising; Hansol must feel it, how much he’s spoken, because he looks self-conscious and turns away. “Sorry, for being a bummer.” 

Seungkwan shakes his head. “No. That fucking sucks,” he says. It’s not his most eloquent, but it makes Hansol laugh, so whatever.

“It kind of does, yeah,” Hansol says with another quiet sigh. “Anyway,” he says abruptly, glancing over at Seungkwan, “I’m glad you’re here.” 

It’s the kind of thing that sounds casual but hits him harder than it should, and he nods back, offering a small grin. 

For all Hansol’s stress, dinner goes fairly uneventfully. Hansol’s father asks him questions about his schoolwork, sounding approving of the fact that he’s getting a business degree; Sofia and Hansol bicker under their breath in English (or at least, it sounds like bickering, but all rapid English sounds kind of angry to him anyway) and their mother scolds them. Hansol’s grandmother is tiny, the kind of old lady who looks like she just keeps shrinking every day, and mostly quiet except to offer occasional criticisms (reminding Seungkwan vaguely of his own grandmother.) She mentions other family members a few times, more family members Hansol never mentioned himself, and Seungkwan finds himself curious. 

It’s strange, the experience of being someone’s not-boyfriend at a family dinner and wishing you knew more. Seungkwan eats his food and listens, staying uncharacteristically quiet to observe Hansol’s family around him. 

“What’s up with you?” Hansol asks him quietly after they finish eating, the boys left to clear the table. Hansol and Sofia were originally charged with the task, but Seungkwan offered to help, and Sofia rolled her eyes and ditched them almost immediately. 

“Hm?” Seungkwan responds, gathering up bowls. 

“This is like, the most quiet you’ve ever been,” Hansol says with a laugh, bumping his hip against Seungkwan’s. “Like, in your life.”

“Thanks,” Seungkwan deadpans. Hansol just laughs at him again, but looks at him expectantly for an explanation. 

“I was just interested. Your family’s interesting,” Seungkwan shrugs. Hansol looks at him, embarrassed, before going back to busying himself with the dishes. 

“It’s weird speaking this much Korean at home,” Hansol admits with another laugh, and Seungkwan grins back at him. He really does look nice like this, hair neatly swept away from his face. 

Hansol’s father and grandmother filter back into the dining room, apparently looking for something, and his father leaves her in the company of the boys as he disappears into the kitchen. Seungkwan greets her politely, Hansol doing the same, and they turn their efforts back to the task at hand. 

“Seungkwan, is it?” His grandmother asks, and Seungkwan looks up to grin and nod at her.

“Boo Seungkwan,” he says, hoping his tone sounds pleasant. He likes when old people like him, it makes him feels approved of.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Seungkwan?” She asks curiously and Seungkwan feels a familiar awkwardness wash over him. He can feel Hansol tense next to him, and if he could, he would mutter to Hansol not to worry so much. 

“Ah, no,” he says with another grin, this one significantly more false.

“Why’s that? A nice boy like you,” she says mildly. 

“Too busy with studying, I guess.” Seungkwan’s still grinning, and the effort’s going to make his face hurt, soon. 

Hansol’s grandmother gives a considering hum, the kind of thing he’s heard before. The kind of thing that says “I don’t believe you.” He’s being paranoid, probably, but he’s acutely aware of how close together he and Hansol are standing. He doesn’t even know how Hansol’s parents are about this, about everything, and suddenly he feels reckless just being here. He’s not Hansol’s boyfriend but they’re not just friends, either, and he should have thought of this. 

“What about you, Hansol?” His grandmother asks then, and Seungkwan wants to swear. Maybe he’s not being paranoid. “A girlfriend?”

“Not right now,” Hansol says, his awkwardness clear in his voice. He’s a worse actor than Seungkwan. Hansol’s grandmother hums again. 

Seungkwan can feel her eyes heavy on them as they carry dishes out of the room and into the kitchen, Hansol sighing as he drops his in the sink. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, barely above a whisper. “Sorry.” 

Seungkwan shakes his head wordlessly, wanting to reach out and touch Hansol’s slumped shoulder, let him know it’s not a big deal, but not it’s not the time or place. Hansol’s father is shuffling around on the other side of the kitchen, glancing through the fridge. 

“What now?” He asks Hansol, making both of them turn around to look at him. He looks tired.

“Nothing,” Hansol mutters. His father just looks between the two of them and sighs. 

“I can’t argue with her on Chuseok, but if you tell me, I might argue with her about it later,” he promises with a weary grin, and it makes Hansol grin back, but he shakes his head.

“It’s awkward, I don’t wanna get into it,” Hansol says, cheeks pink. 

Hansol looks more like his mother, but there’s a reservedness about his father that feels familiar to Seungkwan. Father and son regard each other quietly, like they’re having a silent conversation, and then Hansol’s father mutters, “Oh. Did she ask you about girls?” 

Seungkwan blinks, startled, and Hansol sighs before nodding, like he’s sorry it got extracted out of him. Hansol’s father frowns. “That’s...I’m sorry about that.” He looks like he’s aiming it at Seungkwan, and Seungkwan feels slightly exposed. Is he that easy to read or is Hansol more communicative with his parents than he thought?

He looks at Hansol questioningly, and Hansol just gives him a minute shrug. Okay, just easy to read, then. Hansol’s father continues frowning, looking like he wants to say something else. 

“You know, she’s old,” he finally lands on, and it makes Hansol huff out a surprised laugh. “And old people, for all their wisdom, are very afraid of a lot of stupid things.” 

He gives them a significant look before he takes the drink in his hand, assumedly procured for the old woman in question, and walks out of the kitchen.

“That was fucking weird,” Hansol mutters, and Seungkwan laughs.

“Apparently, I seem extra gay today,” Seungkwan says back, keeping his voice low. Hansol laughs quietly, looking him over.

“Funny, you seem just as gay as usual to me,” he says, making Seungkwan roll his eyes.

“Hilarious.” 

They start washing dishes, Seungkwan applying soap before handing them off to Hansol. “Are you...do your parents…?” Seungkwan starts to ask, not sure how to phrase it. 

“About me?” Hansol asks back, apparently catching his drift. “Um, sort of.” 

“Sort of?” Seungkwan asks curiously. 

Hansol shifts weight between his feet. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t know, we’re close, so I never lied about it. I had a crush on a boy in school once.” 

Seungkwan waits for Hansol to go on, but he seems to be in one of his quieter moods, and he isn’t being very forthcoming. “And?” He prompts.

“I mean they’re fine, obviously. They don’t really care. I just feel awkward talking about like, my feelings or whatever, so we don’t like, discuss it,” Hansol says, sounding uncomfortable. “My mom tries to bring it up sometimes, she’s always telling me that she’ll always love me and stuff. And I’m like ‘okay cool, me too’ and then I hang up the phone.”

Seungkwan snorts. “You’re a bad son.” 

Hansol frowns and steps on his foot. “Mean.” 

They’re quiet again and then something seems to occur to Hansol. “They might...shit, they might think I brought you here to like...meet them.” 

“Oh,” Seungkwan mutters. He hadn’t thought of that.

“They might think we’re dating,” Hansol says, voice muted.

They wash more dishes, neither of them saying much to that. It’s not exactly like Hansol can correct them, anyway — he doesn’t see “No, this isn’t my boyfriend, we just have a lot of sex and hang out a lot” going well — so it’s kind of a moot point. Instead, Seungkwan changes the subject.

“I didn’t know you had family, in Korea,” he says, thinking back to the cousins Hansol mentioned earlier, the aunts and uncles that got brought up at dinner. 

Hansol doesn’t respond right away, seeming focused on scrubbing a stain off of a plate. “Yeah. We don’t see them much.” 

Seungkwan waits again, telling himself not to prod if Hansol doesn’t keep talking, but he does. “My dad lived in America for a long time, you know? And his wife doesn’t really speak Korean, so. It’s easier for them to just kind of ignore us.” 

Seungkwan wants to ask why Hansol never mentioned it before, but he doesn’t. It’s not hard to see why, especially for Hansol, who’s a little guarded at the best of times. It’s foreign to Seungkwan, a firm believer in talking about anything and everything that bothers you, in letting other people know exactly how you feel, but he’s gotten more used to it over the past handful of months. 

“My family’s kind of weird,” Hansol says, laughing but sounding self-conscious and not particularly like he’s joking.

Seungkwan shakes his head, but Hansol goes on, “We have a lot of weird bullshit. There’s a lot of weird bullshit when you’re not really one thing but not the other, either.” 

“I’m sorry,” Seungkwan says, and it’s sincere. He is sorry. It sounds difficult, and it occurs to Seungkwan that he really cares whether or not Hansol is happy. He wants to put his hand on Hansol’s arm, so he does, grandmother be damned. 

Hansol leans into the touch, pulling a face that’s almost a grin at him. Seungkwan leans his head against Hansol’s shoulder for a minute before pulling back, wants to kiss him but doesn’t feel brave enough. Hansol looks at him, a shy smile blooming across his face, before he looks back down at the sink. 

“I think you’re both things, for the record,” Seungkwan says quietly. 

“Yeah, me too,” Hansol says back, looking a little more content. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says again, and it hits Seungkwan’s chest in the same funny way.

“Me too,” he says with a grin, and they put away dishes, the sound of mixed Korean and English filtering in through the closed kitchen door.

**++ ++ ++**

Seungkwan and Seokmin have the shittiest spot on the university radio station, midnight to one in the morning on Tuesday nights. But that doesn’t affect how seriously they both take their position as official radio DJs; this is the fourth or fifth time Hansol has tagged along to the studio, and just like all the others, Seungkwan and Seokmin plan out things to say during songs. Also just like all the others, they play a mix of upbeat pop songs and slower ballads, making impressed noises after each song, as if they weren’t the ones who picked them in the first place.

Hansol looks down at his computer in his lap, typing out an outline for an essay at a pitiful speed because he keeps getting distracted by Seungkwan and Seokmin, two people whom it is easy to get distracted by. 

“Hansol,” Seokmin calls from his seat on the other side of the cramped studio, “do you have any requests?”

“Ugh, no,” Seungkwan interjects. “I’m not playing anything Hansol requests.” Hansol rolls his eyes with a tired grin; it’s an old argument.

“I can’t believe anyone wants to date you,” Seokmin laughs. Seungkwan looks like he wants to argue, but the song currently playing fades out, and they slip their headphones back on instead.

“Everyone, hello and good evening, you’re still listening to Seokmin and Seungkwan’s Late-Night Show. We still need a better name, don’t we?” Seokmin asks with a good-natured laugh. “Tonight it’s me, Seokmin, and of course Seungkwan, and we have a guest in the studio as well.”

“I don’t want to —” Hansol starts but Seungkwan waves him off to shut him up.

“He’s not a guest,” Seungkwan says into the microphone in his even-toned radio voice. 

“What is he, then?” Seokmin asks with another laugh.

“A friend,” Seungkwan shrugs. 

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Seokmin asks with a smirk, making Hansol blush. “Anyway, our Seungkwannie won’t let him pick a song to play on the radio, even though his friend came out here at midnight just to see Seungkwan. That doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

Seokmin mimes like there’s an audience answering to him, pulling away from the mic and saying in a quiet voice back to himself, “No, it doesn’t!” 

“Right, exactly. So I want to personally invite our guest to make a request,” Seokmin finishes, turning to look at Hansol expectantly. 

“Uh,” Hansol mutters, feeling unprepared.

“This is why I don’t let him pick, he’s terrible at this,” Seungkwan says, but he looks over at Hansol in a way that’s a little fond. Hansol can recognize it, lately — it’s the same look he gives babies, and he thinks maybe he should be offended by that but Seungkwan really loves babies, so. 

He still doesn’t have a song Seokmin and Seungkwan can play on the radio, and Seungkwan can see him frozen, so he quickly says, “Our guest, unlike your wonderful hosts, has not trained for radio programming. He’s a nice boy but he doesn’t do well under pressure.” He grins over at Hansol, who feels remarkably less overwhelmed, and mutters a thank you.

“Instead of getting to pick, I’m going to play the last song he listened to on his phone,” Seungkwan continues, and Hansol sighs as he watches Seungkwan pick up his phone from where he left it on the desk in front of Seungkwan. “Ah, Hansolie, you have Girls Generation downloaded?” Seungkwan laughs, and Hansol blushes, standing up to grab his phone back.

“You jerk —” Hansol mutters, struggling for it, but Seungkwan is too quick, handing it to Seokmin, who Hansol doesn’t feel as comfortable attacking.

“And our next song will be, according to Hansol’s phone, quite a change in tone from our usual playlist. Here’s Drake-sunbaenim’s latest single,” Seokmin says with a wide grin.

“Is Drake your sunbae?” Seungkwan asks with a surprised laugh.

“Yes, absolutely,” Seokmin says seriously, and there’s a beat of silence before before they both burst out laughing and Seokmin starts the song.

“I knew he would fuck up my playlist,” Seungkwan whines, rolling his chair over to punch Hansol on the arm.

“In what world is this my fault?” Hansol asks, still embarrassed. 

Seungkwan shoots him a glare, but it’s lacking any real heat. “Go work on your paper.” 

“You’re such a mean boyfriend,” Seokmin comments again with another one of his wide grins.

“Not boyfriends,” Hansol and Seungkwan say in unison, and they high-five at the synchronization before Hansol takes Seungkwan’s advice and resumes working on his paper. Seokmin just rolls his eyes as he turns back to the soundboard in front of him, scrolling through the rest of the playlist for the show.

“What’s your favorite Girls Generation song?” Seungkwan asks Hansol quietly with a smirk.

“Stop.”

++

It’s a Friday night, and he and Seungkwan are sitting on the floor of his apartment, episode ten of a drama playing on the television and two empty bottles of wine next to them. More accurately, Hansol is sitting on the floor and Seungkwan is sitting mostly in Hansol’s lap, sniffling aggressively at the very dramatic staring match happening on the drama Seungkwan's marathoning on the television.

When Seungkwan texted him asking if he wanted to hang out, this wasn’t exactly what he envisioned, but Seungkwan was already four episodes and half a bottle of wine deep when he got here, and Hansol was amused enough to want to see it play out. “My sister told me I’d like it, but the acting’s bad enough that I felt like I should probably not be sober,” he’d said with an eye roll.

In the present, it’s a slightly different scene. “Don’t laugh at me,” Seungkwan mutters accusingly, rubbing at his eyes.

“I’m not laughing at you,” Hansol says through a laugh. 

“Jerk,” Seungkwan mumbles into the crook of Hansol’s neck. “This is so sad.” Seungkwan’s been a contained mess since the episode previous, when the main couple broke up because of fate and circumstance or whatever, but Hansol’s been having trouble paying attention. Seungkwan, clearly, has not.

“Why’d your sister think you’d like it?” Hansol asks. He’s tipsy, and the situation is funny for him, but he feels bad for Seungkwan. He rubs at Seungkwan’s back lightly and Seungkwan leans further into the touch.

“Because she’s always right,” Seungkwan moans miserably, and Hansol stifles another laugh. 

“Really? You like this kind of stuff?” Hansol asks, trying not to sound judgmental. 

“I’ve seen Titanic like a million times,” Seungkwan says sadly. 

“Why?” Hansol asks incredulously. 

Seungkwan pulls away from him and pauses the drama, looking up at Hansol with furrowed eyebrows. “They’re _in love_ , Hansol.” 

“You’re so fucking dramatic,” Hansol laughs, brushing Seungkwan’s hair back affectionately. 

“I’m also correct,” Seungkwan insists.

“I mean yeah, I guess they were in love. It was kind of dumb, though,” Hansol shrugs. Seungkwan glares at him. “Like, why couldn’t she just save him in the end? Seems like there was enough room on the door.”

“But it’s more tragic if he dies,” Seungkwan says like it’s obvious. 

“Yeah, no shit,” Hansol snorts. “But why does that make it better?”

“It just _does_ ,” Seungkwan says forcefully.

“That’s fucked up,” Hansol says, shaking his head.

“What do you know about romance, all you watch are shitty comedies,” Seungkwan says derisively. 

“Excuse you,” Hansol mutters, rolling his eyes. “Like you’re some great expert in romance.”

“I believe in true love, Hansol,” Seungkwan says seriously, glaring at him. It’s not very intimidating, since Seungkwan is half-drunk and has been crying for an hour, but he clearly intends it to be. 

“That’s cute,” Hansol says with a grin. Seungkwan keeps glaring.

“Don’t call me cute right now,” he huffs.

“Are you really mad at me?” Hansol asks with a disbelieving laugh.

“A little,” Seungkwan mumbles, sniffing and wiping at his nose with a tissue from the nearby box.

Hansol shakes his head with a grin before bringing up his own sleeve to wipe at Seungkwan’s eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’ve been through a lot tonight,” Seungkwan defends himself, gesturing toward the television, “the love of his life just came back from New York, but how is he supposed to know what to do?”

“Luckily,” Hansol says with a teasing grin, scooting closer to Seungkwan who scoots back with a pout, “they’re fictional.” 

“Just be quiet,” Seungkwan hisses at him as he presses play on the remote. But he doesn’t scoot away again when Hansol moves to sit next to him, slouching down to lean his head on Seungkwan’s shoulder. 

“I didn’t know you cared so much about romance,” Hansol mutters some time later, and Seungkwan turns to glance at him before looking back at the television.

“That’s because I haven’t been holding you to very high standards,” Seungkwan explains, sounding amused.

“Oh, should I start bringing you flowers?” Hansol asks with a smirk. He can see Seungkwan’s cheeks go pink in the low light of the living room, and he enjoys it.

“I’m allergic,” Seungkwan sighs dramatically. “I’ll accept any other small gifts, though.” 

“Sounds expensive,” Hansol says with a grin. 

“Am I not worth it?” Seungkwan teases, leaning closer to him. 

“Didn’t say that,” Hansol breathes before the distance between them is closed, Seungkwan pushing him backward onto the floor of the living room to kiss him roughly. 

Mingyu comes home to the sight of the two of them making out aimlessly on the floor in front of the television, Seungkwan’s drama still playing, and rolls his eyes before stepping over them to get to the kitchen and fix himself something to eat.

++

It’s a Saturday in November when Hansol runs into Wonwoo in Seungkwan’s apartment, both of them looking a little startled to see the other.

Hansol’s standing in the kitchen, wearing a pair of joggers and not much else, trying to find food. He doesn’t expect Wonwoo, similarly exposed in only one of Mingyu’s sweaters, baggy on him, and a pair of boxers, to sleepily pad out, and they both jump when they see each other.

“Oh,” Wonwoo mutters, voice low from sleep, “hey.” 

“Hey,” Hansol says back, lifting his hand in something like a wave. They’ve met a few times, he thinks, but they don’t run into each other a lot — they’re both usually here for different things. It’s kind of awkward, and both of them look away, Wonwoo walking over to get a glass and fill it with water. He looks like he wants to leave but he hesitates. 

“So you’re a first-year, right?” Wonwoo asks, sipping at his water. 

“Uh,” Hansol says eloquently, looking up from the cabinet. “Yeah.” 

“I’m a third-year,” Wonwoo offers. Hansol already knew that (Mingyu didn’t shut the fuck up about every detail that he knew about Wonwoo for a full two weeks last month) but he nods politely. 

“What do you study?” Hansol asks, because it’s what you ask.

“Biology, but like, mostly plants and shit,” Wonwoo says back with a nod. It makes Hansol laugh, and Wonwoo grins back. 

“That’s cool,” Hansol says with a nod. “What do you do with a degree in plants and shit?”

“Research, mostly,” Wonwoo shrugs. Hansol nods again.

“My roommate’s a chem major,” Hansol says. He feels like they’re really picking up steam with this whole conversation thing. 

“Your roommate?” Wonwoo laughs. 

Hansol doesn’t get the joke. “Yeah?”

“How many nights do you even sleep there?” Wonwoo asks.

“Plenty,” Hansol mutters defensively. 

Wonwoo nods, looking disbelieving. Hansol frowns.

“Sorry, no offense or anything. I just kind of forgot you lived somewhere else,” Wonwoo says with a shrug. He brushes his hair off his face and fills his glass of water again.

Hansol, admittedly, gets that a lot. He still sees Chan about a thousand times a week, their schedules wound together so they can get lunch together almost every day, but it’s a running joke that he’s basically living in a single dorm at this point. Whatever. Hansol shrugs, giving Wonwoo a grin, and Wonwoo grins back before walking back off toward Mingyu’s bedroom. 

Hansol toasts a frozen waffle and carries it back to Seungkwan’s bedroom, where Seungkwan is still laying face-down on his messy bed. 

“Ugh,” Seungkwan mutters when Hansol sits down next to him, bouncing the mattress, “why are you awake?”

“It’s ten in the morning, Seungkwan,” Hansol says back with a grin, scrolling through his phone as he eats his waffle one-handed. 

“Not a good enough reason,” Seungkwan says with a groan, pulling Hansol over so he can rest his head in his lap. “Are these my pants?”

“They did feel a little loose,” Hansol mumbles, unsure.

“Don’t be an ass,” Seungkwan says, his annoyance making him sound more awake. 

“No, I just don’t _have_ an ass,” Hansol says back through a mouthful of waffle. 

It makes Seungkwan laugh, patting his back in consolation as he opens his eyes and looks up at him properly. “God, why are you never wearing clothes?”

“Seemed unnecessary,” Hansol shrugs, and Seungkwan reaches up to pinch at his bare side. “You have a lot of criticisms for me this morning.”

“And every morning, Hansol,” Seungkwan mutters, but he’s grinning, eyes slipping closed again. 

“Wonwoo’s here,” Hansol says conversationally. He finishes his waffle and shifts Seungkwan’s head out of his lap so he can lie down again, slotting himself next to Seungkwan comfortably. 

“Mm, well, he was definitely here last night,” Seungkwan mutters, gesturing to his and Mingyu’s shared wall. Hansol snorts a laugh. 

They’re quiet, nestled together neatly in a way that’s become second nature over the past six months, both of them tending to err on the side of clingy, and Hansol considers the domesticity of it all. He doesn’t really know what it means that all their stuff gets mixed together, that Hansol finds himself with things in Seungkwan’s dresser drawers and that his schoolwork always gets spread out between his own dorm room and Seungkwan’s living room, but he doesn’t mind it. It’s kind of nice the way they can share clothes (though they don’t often share more than basics; Seungkwan continues to hate most of Hansol’s wardrobe with a deep passion, and Hansol wouldn’t be caught dead in half of Seungkwan’s pastels.) 

When Seungkwan finally decides to get up, he pulls the covers off of Hansol just to be mean, and Hansol whines as he pulls them back up. Seungkwan stops in front of his mirror, his rumpled pajamas crooked on his frame, and looks at himself.

“Gross, my face is all puffy,” he mutters, mostly to himself. 

Hansol frowns. “I like your face.” 

Seungkwan snorts, and Hansol can see his eye roll in the mirror, but he doesn’t say anything back. 

They never call themselves a couple, don’t use words like relationship, have never even talked about feelings, really. But this, Seungkwan’s organized bedroom that holds so much of his life, feels like they skipped a step and somehow went from fuck buddies to married couple at the ripe age of 19. It maybe should make Hansol panic or whatever, but he finds himself not caring much. 

“You’re looking at me weird,” Seungkwan tells him when he turns back toward Hansol.

“Just thinking,” Hansol mutters. Seungkwan raises an eyebrow. 

“Share with the class?” Seungkwan asks with a grin. 

“You know, just like, for the record. I wouldn’t mind being your boyfriend,” Hansol says, only stuttering over the words a little, which is a marked improvement from how he usually sounds when he discusses his own emotions. 

“Oh?” Seungkwan asks, face hard to read. 

“Yeah. Just for the record,” Hansol nods up at him from where he’s still sitting in bed.

“Well,” Seungkwan mutters. “That’s something.” 

Hansol makes a face. “Don’t be weird.”

“You just asked me to go steady with you,” Seungkwan says, eyebrows raised.

“I did _not_ ,” Hansol huffs defensively. He sits up in bed, rolling his eyes at Seungkwan. 

“I mean, you did, but whatever you say.” Seungkwan is grinning now, looking amused. 

“You’re such an asshole,” Hansol says with another eye roll. 

“I don’t think I would mind either,” Seungkwan says, ignoring him. “Just for the record.” 

There’s a beat of silence, both of them looking at each other a little honest and maybe a little scared, despite themselves. “Okay,” Hansol says quietly. He can feel the pink in his cheeks. 

“Come here, idiot,” Seungkwan mutters before walking toward him, leaning down to kiss him. It’s nice, sort of gentle, like they’re both trying to be careful. Which is stupid, since they’ve known each other for half a year, but Hansol feels a little off-balance.

“You’ve never had a boyfriend before, have you? Like, a real one.” Seungkwan asks when he pulls away, hand going to fix Hansol’s hair like it’s second nature.

“No. Neither have you,” Hansol points out. 

Seungkwan shakes his head. “Nope.” 

“It’s different, with girls,” Hansol finds himself saying, making Seungkwan raise an eyebrow. “I mean, I’ve never — with girls, there are rules. You can’t just do it backwards like this.” 

“In more ways than one,” Seungkwan mutters, and Hansol takes a minute to snort at the innuendo.

He wants to say, _and I don’t know if I’ve ever liked a girlfriend this much_ , but he doesn’t. He’s done enough soul-baring for today. 

“Well, we’ll figure it out, anyway,” Seungkwan says decisively, the way he sounds when he’s making decisions for people. But that doesn’t really fit, this time.

“Yeah,” Hansol agrees with a little nod, smiling slowly. “We will.” 

They look at each other for a minute, a stupid pang of nervousness in Hansol’s chest. But he chases it off when he asks, “Wanna fool around?”

“Jesus christ,” Seungkwan says with a surprised laugh. “That’s romantic.”

“Sorry, do you want to make love?” Hansol asks, putting emphasis on the words, and Seungkwan faux-retches and hits him with a pillow.

“Shut up, loverboy,” he laughs before kneeling down onto the bed and pushing Hansol against the mattress.

++

Their first real date is spontaneous, a spur-of-the-moment decision when they’re walking home and Seungkwan complains that he’s cold. They’re passing by a cafe, across campus from the one they usually get lunch in, but it looks warm and their drink specials are all autumn-themed, so Hansol drags Seungkwan in by the hand and buys him one of those stupid drinks that he likes (this one has two different kinds of whipped cream.)

“What makes this a date?” Seungkwan asks after Hansol observes that they’re on one.

“I don’t know. I paid for you?” Hansol shrugs. 

“You always pay for my drinks,” Seungkwan says, an eyebrow raised.

Hansol furrows his eyebrows. “God, you’re right. Pull your own weight once in a while.”

Seungkwan continues to stare at him expectantly. Hansol shrugs again. “Like, there are couples here. This is what couples do.”

“But we’ve been doing this forever,” Seungkwan points out. He’s not wrong.

“So what are you saying, we’ve been on a million dates already? I thought we weren’t dating before,” Hansol asks with a grin.

Seungkwan looks flustered. “Well, I don’t know. It’s hard to tell now.” 

They decide to make a list of things couples do, scrawled on a receipt Hansol had wadded up in his jacket pocket, which embarrassingly enough is for condoms. The list starts with hand-holding (which Seungkwan wants to veto because he claims he holds hands with a lot of people, but Hansol _doesn’t_ , so it gets to stay) and winds through a litany of romantic activities, from getting dinner all the time to wearing matching clothing (it was accidental but it still happened once, to both of their genuine horror) to talking on the phone late at night. To their chagrin, they check off every single one, even lending a person your jacket when they say they’re cold. 

“Shit,” Hansol mutters. 

“You know, some of these are things friends do,” Seungkwan attempts, but his tone isn’t even hopeful. 

“Friends don’t usually sleep together while doing them, though,” Hansol corrects.

Seungkwan considers. “Really good ones would.”

Hansol snorts, bumping his shoulder against Seungkwan’s. “Whatever. Who cares.” 

They sip their drinks, Seungkwan burrowed in his too-big denim jacket. It’s too cold out for it, but Seungkwan will always choose fashion over function, and it stresses Hansol out. “You’re gonna get sick wearing that,” he mutters. They’re sitting on the same side of the small booth, their thighs pressed together warmly.

“And you wouldn’t even take care of me, would you?” Seungkwan asks with a sigh. 

“No, because I’ve told you a million times that if you dress like an idiot when it’s cold out you’re gonna get sick,” Hansol explains. He takes a sip of his coffee. “How will you ever learn your lesson if I make you soup?”

“You can’t make soup,” Seungkwan accuses. He’s right, but Hansol just shrugs.

“If I could, I wouldn’t give it to you.” 

They sit quietly, Seungkwan leaning his head on Hansol’s shoulder like it’s habit, and there’s a warmth in Hansol’s stomach despite the late autumn chill still hanging around them. It’s not unpleasant, Hansol thinks as his hand finds Seungkwan’s under the table and they stare out a window, not feeling the need to say anything to fill their comfortable silence.

**++ ++ ++**

Seungkwan stays in Seoul for most of winter break, but there are two weeks in January that he’s set aside to visit home. When Seungkwan asked Hansol to come with him, he was mostly joking, but Hansol just looked at him for a minute, considering, before replying, “Yeah, okay.”

So here they are at the airport, a pink neck pillow with a pig’s face on it around Hansol’s neck, their carry-on bags stacked on top of each other while they both stare at their phones, waiting for their boarding call. It’s weird. Not bad-weird, but weird. Sitting on a plane with Hansol asleep next to him (and really, it’s an hour-long flight, the sleeping isn’t warranted) makes him feel more grown-up than he does normally. 

It gets weirder when they get to the Boo family residence, Seungkwan’s mother rushing outside to greet them and grab their bags as Seungkwan shoos her off. 

“Eomma…” he whines when she fusses over how skinny Hansol is, Hansol looking flustered and blushing in response.

“Don’t you feed him?” His mother asks, looking admonishingly at Seungkwan.

“That’s not my job!” Seungkwan insists. Hansol continues to blush, looking small in his big winter jacket and standing in the entryway to Seungkwan’s house. His middle sister pokes her head out of a nearby room, looking amused. 

“Is this the boy?” She asks with a predatory smirk, and Seungkwan glares at her.

“Go away,” he mumbles, unbuttoning his own coat and taking Hansol’s to hang them up.

She just snickers before walking off, and Seungkwan sighs. “So, welcome,” he says quietly to Hansol, who’s grinning at him despite the chaos. 

“Thanks,” he says, and it sounds genuine, just like most everything he says. 

Seungkwan has been to Hansol’s home a few times, is familiar with the quiet atmosphere of his family’s apartment, and he’s suddenly very aware that his home is the exact opposite. His mother’s listening to trot music in the kitchen while she cooks dinner, his sister is watching television in the living room, his father’s talking on the phone loudly as he walks back and forth across the house; it’s loud, and the house is small and a little too warm, and he feels embarrassed about it all of the sudden. But Hansol doesn’t seem to notice as they drag their bags back toward Seungkwan’s bedroom, where they’re shoved in the middle of the floor.

“Sorry, everything’s kind of a mess, my family is kind of a mess —” Seungkwan starts, words rushed, but Hansol apparently doesn’t notice him speaking.

“Your house is so cool,” Hansol says with a big grin. It makes something inside of Seungkwan melt a little, just a tiny respectable amount, and he chooses to deal with it by closing the gap between them and kissing Hansol.

“Whoa,” Hansol mutters with something like a giggle, pulling away momentarily. “What was that for?”

Seungkwan just shrugs and does it again, bringing his arms up to sling around the back of Hansol’s neck and pull him closer. It’s been nine months since the first time they kissed but Seungkwan still likes leaning up to catch Hansol’s lips, still likes the way Hansol rests his hand on Seungkwan’s waist, so easy and natural. He still likes this a lot.

Both of Seungkwan’s sisters are present at family dinner that night and they make it their personal mission to harass Hansol all night, interrogating him with inane questions about everything on earth. He glares at them all night, but Hansol looks unfazed, answering their queries about his schoolwork and his roommate and at one point, his shoe size, between bites of food. 

“Can you _please_ ,” he hisses at his oldest sister when his mother’s distracted, “knock it off?”

She laughs but holds her hands up in front of her, claiming innocence. “Sorry, sorry,” she says with a grin, not looking very sorry. 

Later, when his oldest sister is pulling on her coat at the front door, she gives him a crooked smile and says quietly, “I like him. He’s sweet.” She leans forward to kiss his cheek and ruffle his hair affectionately, and Seungkwan can feel himself blush. “Keep him around, okay?” She says before she leaves. Seungkwan nods with an embarrassing grin, waving goodbye to her and mumbling an indistinct “Nothing,” when Hansol asks what he’s grinning about.

++

Seungkwan’s mother insisted that Hansol should sleep on Seungkwan’s bed for the entire time he was staying with them, and relocated Seungkwan to the lumpy couch in the living room that’s as old as he is. It’s a little unfair, he thinks as he rolls over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, but whatever. He gets it. His parents are accepting, they’re great people, but he doesn’t suppose they want to encourage their son to share a bed with his boyfriend. There’s a limit to everyone’s generosity, after all.

So Seungkwan tosses and turns on the couch, uncomfortable both because of the material underneath him and the fact that since the start of winter break, both of them free from their class schedules, it’s been rare for him to sleep alone; Hansol’s spent nearly every night at Seungkwan’s apartment, and he’s gotten too used to it.

It must be close to one in the morning when Seungkwan hears unsure footsteps pad into the room. “Seungkwan?” Hansol’s voice whispers.

Seungkwan turns in response, blinking his eyes open at the sight of Hansol in a big long-sleeved shirt and loose pajama pants. “Hm?”

“Can’t sleep,” Hansol mutters, walking over more until he’s standing at the edge of the couch.

Seungkwan scoots in, leaving enough room for Hansol to sit down. “Me either.” 

They’re quiet, the low hum of the furnace the only noise in the room. Hansol sits down and Seungkwan puts his feet in his lap automatically, stretching out lazily.

“I forgot your birthday present in Seoul,” Hansol mutters suddenly, and Seungkwan laughs, surprised. 

“You’re a mess,” Seungkwan says, prodding Hansol’s leg with his heel. “Buy me another one. You’ve got a week to shop.”

Hansol laughs softly. “I’m not made of money, Seungkwan.” 

“This is why I’m going to marry rich,” Seungkwan says with a yawn, sitting up and resting his chin in his hand as he looks across the couch at Hansol. “I need to maintain a certain lifestyle.”

“Guess I’m just a stop in the road for you, then,” Hansol says with a grin. 

Seungkwan nods. “Absolutely. I just need to get this out of my system.” 

“But you’ll fall too deep for me and end up cheating on your rich husband with me, because it turns out he’s kind of an asshole, and I’ve got a heart of gold,” Hansol says. He looks pleased with himself at the idea. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Seungkwan deadpans, and it makes Hansol laugh again, leaning over with the force of it like he does sometimes. 

“Will you get in trouble if you sleep in your room with me?” Hansol asks, hand resting on Seungkwan’s knee.

“Probably,” Seungkwan mutters, but he shifs his legs out of Hansol’s lap and onto the floor anyway. “But I’m tired, and I can’t fall asleep alone anymore.” 

Hansol grins at him as they walk down the quiet hallway of Seungkwan’s house, and it looks so sleepy and soft, his hair mussed and unstyled and his shirt falling off his shoulder. 

“You’re cute,” Seungkwan says with a sigh when Hansol flops onto Seungkwan’s tiny twin bed, taking up too much room. Hansol just laughs at him quietly, and there’s a familiar pang of something sentimental in his chest, something warm. 

They sleep intertwined, partially because of the lack of space, but partially just because it’s how they usually sleep. Their cold feet press together at the foot of the bed, and Hansol’s close to elbowing him in the rib, but he doesn’t mind much, anyway. 

Seungkwan wakes up too early in the morning because he didn’t close the curtains the night before and the rising sun is trying its best to blind him, and there’s a painful crick in his neck from their sleeping position. But still, as Hansol wakes up and sleepily scratches at his stomach in the warm patch of sunlight on the bed, he doesn’t mind much. 

“Morning,” Hansol mumbles, rolling over to bury his face in Seungkwan’s neck, and Seungkwan really doesn’t mind at all.

**Author's Note:**

> heyyy thanks! for reading! tbh i am also planning on writing the jihancheol in this verse...because you gotta create the content you wann see in the world...so look forward(??? hahah) to that. alright thanks again pals


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